Heads Up

[Philomel]

Closed to Ulrich Craggenmoor and people who spefically request/ask and is agreed by both.

If they even had eyes that wanted to see they didn't use them. They were all too self absorbed in their own lives. People going about their lives, acting like they were the only people in the universe, or as if the universe revolved around them and all the remainder of creation was simply there to watch them and/or for their amusement.

How low, this attitude of life, how utterly antique. So thought the russet coloured fox as he bounded under their feet and over their feet, lithely and silently moving in and out of the many people who strode around the dirty streets, each with their own purposeful expressions and a complete disregard for all other life. Selfishness, or attitude, Veridian had little idea, all he knew was that he could scamper through the market square without notice, for rarely did humanoids look up or down but rather forwards.

So there was a very little chance that they would notice him, and perhaps even less at the fact that he carried a severed head in his mouth.

Gripping the fair hair firmly between his foreteeth he flicked his tail, turning a sharp right to twist away from the market square down one of the quieter lanes, then a few leaps of paw on stone and a readjustment of the head in his teeth to catch onto the ear, and there was the pathway that would lead him on his way to his home, to the place where his beloved companion was currently earning them both money.

The man absurdedly groaned, like he had some sort of ugly toad caught in his mouth. It was a low cry of despondancy, could almost be considered a begging in some others' perspective. Philomel did not mind it, it gave her a sense of amusement and even more confidence as if she didn't have enough already. She knew what she was doing, after all this was her profession, and anyone who attested less would soon receive a taste of her good works or a dagger through their chest. Or indeed, in some occaisions, both. First the bedding, then the death. Philomel was good at death, she was good at killing. But she was definitely one hundred totally not good at love.

In her opinion love didn't even exist. She rolled on her hips, straddling the man as she held him inside of her between the lips of her woman-hole, a slight smirk as he gripped the sheets with clawed hands, moaning for more, more! She felt a chuckle grow inside of her chest as he moaned like a pig, and looked like one too, scrunching up his face, the fat bastard. Easily she slipped a hand into his pocket as she leaned over him and stole the large heavy purse. Her eyes focused on his as she leaned off him, causing him to cry out in pleading.

"More, more please."

"Then give me his name," she said with a quiet smile.

Then man jerked, trembled a little, but he was already in her power. He gave her the name of the killer there and then, and then she finished him off, well, good and bloody.

Just as Veridian appeared at the window, and her blade struck across the bastard's throat. Clean and tidy, that was both of them. She grinned at the fox, who knickered to her. Easily Philomel flipped the blade over in her hand, then tucked it safely back inside her belt. She pulled down her loincloth as she stepped off the dead man.

"Well done," she said, taking the severed head. "Well done."

She looked up and grinned at her familiar. The fox form chattered, and nuzzled her hand. Blood smeared over her palm but Philomel didn't care.

In fact she licked it rightly and beautifully off.

[Philomel]

Giving a short background to the story, for ease. And also introducing Mort, Phi's pimp.

Earlier that day.

Shortly after finding the severed head of the blonde man, Philomel had gone to the place and the man she always went to in these circumstances. Her heart was thundering in her chest but she did not feel threatened in any way. In fact there was a certain peace, uneasy, but peaceful.

She had walked her way through the streets and onwards to the small alleyway that led to the back entrance of the lovingly advertised brothel. She ducked in, glancing briefly behind her for a hopeful glimpse of Veridian but he was not to be seen, then closed the door neatly as she unbuckled her sheath in the dim light of the small hall.

Immediately, almost, her sword and sheath were grabbed, seized from her hold. She did not react, she had been expecting it. She did not turn as a gravelly voice behind her growled out.

"No client?"

"I'm your best whore, Mort," Philomel said with no hesitation. "I don't need to pretend to love every night."

There was a quiet hiss but she kept walking.

"I ordered in that wine you asked for!"

"Which can wait a night," the faun whore argued back, taking the three iron daggers from the sheath on her leg, and passing them over her shoulder. There was a pause, then the rough hand of her pimp met hers and took two. She smiled, then slid the last, and her favourite, back into its place on her hip.

"I was witness to a murder," she said, admitted, finally, turning around to meet the pale eyes and brown skin of the man who owned her body and currently soul.

Mort blinked, then clicked his tongue.

"It took me much money to clear up that mess with your mother. She is less than useless now. You will need to pay for her lack of income."

"Which will be easily done. But..."

Philomel looked directly at him. He stared back.

"I want this one."

Mort paused, he looked at her judgingly. He was silent for a while, then nodded.

"Fine. I will find the man who may know things. You do as you will. But you work as you do. You earn and love and then kill. You cut this short, then come back to me. I want no more mess from you Philomel. I want this found, solved, and ended..." He grinned. "Otherwise I will kill your mother."

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

A long day. And it wasn't even over yet, not by a long shot.

Ulrich stalked down the crowded street, all leather coat and legs. Following his magical bread and butter: a blood covered needle suspended from his hand which spun and pointed the way to his lead. Ulrich had been hired to find a murderer. Some mess of muscle and intent. The lead Ulrish was tracing through the crowds was the latest victim. A part of him anyway. The head had been removed and taken, And now wherever it was. That was where he was planning to go next.

The job meeting still run in his head.

It had been quiet. But filled with anger. A sister of a victim had come to Ulrich. And begged for information, blood for blood. what was left of the feeble excuse for an inheritance was his pay. Usually it wouldn't be enough to get him out of bed. Let alone hunt down a very grave threat. But the girl had been desperate. She had also been gorgeous. Fiery red hair and deep eyes. Had pulled an agreement out of his lips before he knew what there was to sign up to. Or he had declined and buckled instantly as those big pretty eyes had started to tear up.

Whichever works for you.

Ulrich had accepted, against any logical judgement. Now following a needle through town looking for a bodyless head.

Logic?

Fuck logic.

the needle spun as Ulrich stumbled over the local wildlife. Looking down, the sight managed to knock him for six, a fox was carrying Ulrich's head and lept up onto the nearby window of the local brothel.

Logic was on holiday. Ulrich had been beaten to the punch by a fox. One who was making a put stop at a hen house. It was time to get ahead.

The interior was what you would expect. A well polished bar served guests still looking to choose from the fine array of treats walking around selling the wares. A small group of soldiers were in the corner, happily entertained by a well endowed female elf with enough revealed to leave nothing to the imagination, still leaving enough hidden to benefit a paying participant.

The Professional wizard kept his head down, brow hidden by the wide brim of his hat and moved like he belonged. An easy trick and soon enough he was alone upstairs. A row of doors stretching it's way down the hall. Sounds of earned pleasure drifted throughout, a lesser man would have been turned around. Lost. But good ol bread and butter pointed the way. Third on the left. Unlocked. Easiest part of the day. The door swung open, Ulrich stood in the door frame. And quickly examined the scene of dead man, fox and whore.

The wand was in Ulrich’s hand in an instant. Pointed towards the only living humanoid in the room, it's charge ready to blast out with enough force to take her throat out from between those pretty shoulders.

"And who the hell are you?"

[Philomel]

As soon as the door opened there was a scrabble of claws. A chattering as Veridian let out a high string of jittering catteraws that ended with a high bark and a sharp, threatening call. Philomel whipped around, just as her tongue snaked along the length of her ring finger, then her eyes snapped up, staring straight at the man. In her other hand, holding it by the hair, was the severed head, dangling and now stinking, that which his brown eyes seemed to be subconciously flickering to. Her nostrils flared as she assessed the man before her. Human. Blonde hair, standard length. Rough clothes, looking as if he had been on some journey, complete with hat. Medium, rather normal building. Very wary, very pissed-off looking and by the looks of the wand pointing straight at her chest, undoubedtly a mage.

Easy. She had dealt with mages before. The majority of them just needed to be told they were very good at what they did - that was, magic - and be sent on their way with a cup of tea or pipeweed. She had fucked and killed a couple after Mort had ordered her to, they, like all men, could be appeased with a simple few tricks of the whore's trade.

The man's mouth formed words and she heard the question again.

"Who the hell are you?"

Philomel paused, and considered the words. She pursed her lips, glanced over to the bed where the man she had just killed, the "end" she had tied off, just like Mort had said, and tilted her head. Veridian hissed long and low, his eyes on the stranger who had just abruptly come into the room, and he yelped as Philomel instead chose to turn away from the mage and head back towards the new corpse, the severed head now banging against her furred leg. Her hooves clopped over the wooden floor, calmly she shook her plait over her shoulder, then formed her lips luciously into the first phoneme of the name this man had spoken before she had killed him. The name of the killer.

She breathed, then tipped her head to the side. Out of the corner of her eye she could still see the mage, on edge, and pointing the wand at her. She smiled slightly, amusedly, then turned around back to him. She giggled slightly.

"'Zoltan'," she said, lightly, "'Zoltan' he said."

"Zoltan the bastard will be dead."

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

His wand wavered in his palm. The stranger dismissed him out of hand, so she was either extremely dangerous or fool-hearty. And soon enough he was pointing it at her back. More confused and wary than threatened. Strangely he felt himself sharing similar reactions to the fox. A familiar then. another thing that caused the professional wizard's intrigue to deepen.

And with intrigue, Ulrich found his attention moving. Moving away from the woman and towards... what he was starting to consider another crime scene. A body lay, bloodied on the bed, a bloody canyon carved through it's jugular. Naked. What a mess. At least he wasn't a cop, this wasn't his problem. The job was.

The woman was the only one there and the kill was fresh. She was most likely a prostitute and a killer all wrapped up in a tight, fresh package. Probably worth all the coin she charged. If they were able to get a knife to your throat, they would charge a lot.

The room was similar. All dressed and prettied up with silks and linen, the blood spilled across the satin sheets in stark contrast to the white that would be spilled on any other day, At least the room was high class enough not to stink of sweat and semen. instead it started to smell of fresh blood as it drained out of the latest patron. Deaths on the job can't be good for buisness.

Someone had a grudge.

It was the giggling that broke his concentration. Not the bare back turning round to be a bare front. The giggling, definitely the giggling. And Ulrich raised his wand in defence. Having let his arm dip while the concentration moved around the room. The room was the next link now. The head had led him here, so there was definitely a connection.

Zoltan? Was she insane or just being deliberately obtuse for the sake of it?

His wand dropped to his side. and he took a step closer to the stranger. And offered his name, hoping to pull a string of words from the assassin that could make sense. Or a lead.

"I'm Ulrich Craggenmoor, I'm tracking... another... killer. And I need that. there."

The professional wizard reached his free hand out to point vaguely at the severed head. Held in the stranger's hand by a clump of filthy hair.

"So. If you wouldn't mind miss... what is your name?"

[Philomel]

Her giggling faded slowly, though her smile remained. She found this all terribly amusing, the fact that she had finished off this end, she had the end... and now she had a mage who was not exactly the ugly type and probably had money in the room with her. Her soft rouged lips were curved upwards, she caught a glimpse of them in the ornately framed mirror to the side of the bed, then turned around to face the man again. Her hand swung around and came to rest on her hip, a fingers breadth away from her dagger at her belt. She thrust her hips forwards as was practise, and hoisted up the head in the air, to breast height.

"This head?" she asked, fighting the desire to wink. "You need it to track another killer? Oh darling," she looked around to Veridian, then the two of them exchanged a glance of silent acknowledgement.

"Yes, darling I know," she said quieter, addressing the Earth Spirit. "I was not expecting this either. You are the one who brought him here."

Veridian looked at her, then let out a sharp growling bark. It was deep, annoyed. I didn't mean to, he tried to relate, Didn't mean to.

Philomel's smile faded as she turned back to the mage. Her brow furrowed slightly as she felt the blood from the head continue to drip onto the fur of her leg. She thought for a while as his name floated around her head. Ulrich, Ulrich. Ulrich the mage. For a while she just stared, then decided to go with this. She lifted up the head then joyfully tossed it into the air, high into the air. On her cue Veridian leapt off the windowsill, high and proud, and whipping his tail and snapped the head before landing smartly on the floor a foot from Ulrich. Both of them looked at him, the fox choosing to sit back on his haunches, hair of the head in jaws, partly offering, partly refusing to offer the head.

Philomel rested the hilt of her hand on her dagger and stood there, ready for each situation. She stared at him right in the face.

"I am known as the Faun of Love and Blood, but most clients called me Philomel before they died. Or were satisfied," she paused, shrugged, "Or both. This bastard," she nodded to the bed, "Just told me the name of that head's killer. Now what interest do you have in this? Tell me true, or get the fuck out of our way."

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Harmless.

Or at the least, she didn't seem the type to kill you for breathing. Or to start anything without an upper hand. So for the moment at least. Ulrich felt himself drop into a more comfortable stance, and stowed the wand in it's bandoleer. He probably felt able to since this didn't make Ulrich defenceless in any stretch, something that his last mark would have been able to tell you. The poor bastard, so sure of his strength and standing in the world had simply bled to death, Ulrich hadn't broken a sweat and reclaimed his wand from the corpse. So Someone preferring to use a few knives while holding an utter advantage wasn't striking the wizard as a major threat.

But their performance was good. If a bit hammy.

Suppressing a smile as she introduced herself, Ulrich maintained a stony, serious face. Philomel, If tonight was a norm for this one, They were going to cross paths more often than either would guess. A prospect that he didn't quite know how he felt about. Un-charted waters and all that. But he accepted her introduction without comment and listened further, simply tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes at the unveiled threat. He couldn't blow it now, for now it appeared that Philomel had became his next lead.

"My current client wants to know who killed that head, and then have some revenge dealed by proxy. I was going to use it to discover who it was, but now that seems secondary."

His stare took in her face, limbs. The smear of blood streaked up the side of her hand. Itself hanging awkwardly, probably beside some weapon he didn't see.

"What's your interest? Why does a prostitute hunt murderers?"

If Philomel was going to reply, she wasn't given the time as the door was opened once again. Ulrich spun, wand in hand, ready to blast any danger he knew. What he saw was, he knew, one of the men in charge that he had strolled by on his way in here. The mass of Mort filling the door, a face etched with selfish anger as he stormed into the room. Moved over to the Faun girl and rumbling words spilling from his mouth.

"Time's up."

[Philomel]

Her whole body stilled and time itself seemed to effortlessly freeze as the door clashed open. Her finger stroking the hilt of her dagger stopped, then automatically curled back from her one weapon, minus the ones that grew on her body, and she felt a grumbling amount of dread begin to sneak into her system. She wasn't frightened - ever since her first time working in the beds at the brothel she had never been scared - but she was suddenly very uncomfortable, and feeling an acidic taste in the back of her throat.

The explanation from this "Ulrich" had seemed simple enough. It did not take him long to place his wand away. This was either because he considered her not threatening enough or was quick to realise that in fact they had a similar goal here. Despite the fact that hers ended in sex and blood and his some sort of monetary award... it became clearer with his words. "My current client wants to know who killed that head, and then have some revenge dealed by proxy." Well then, definitely pay, and the fact that he also has an idea of a "client" meant he was of a similar lifestyle to herself, working in similar context. A private detective then. Or at least some sort of glory hunter. Either way, his eagerness to show peace made Philomel smile a little. He could prove to be useful.

As his question came she opened her mouth to reply. He called her a "prostitute" and she began to part her lips to tell her she was an assassin-whore thank you very much, her purpose was dual, and in fact she could fight rather well, and had extra magical-like abilities mr pompous wizardy warlock mage person!

But then the door crashed open and everything was suddenly forgotten. Veridian, now in possession of the head after he had caught it, nickered almost in fright, and whipped his tail to dart around to the closest cover he could find - which happened to be the legs of Ulrich. He crouched there, low, as Mort entered the room with a muscular power that none could deny and marched fowards to stand right in front of Philomel and lean down to whisper raggedly and hauntingly in her face.

"Time's up."

There was a silence, as Philomel's lips opened and she stared right back at the face thrust in hers.

"Time, what time? You said nothing about time. One night, one bloody night I have had Mort, and you said I needed to tie off loose ends. Which I did." She flourished the hand not near her dagger towards the belt, where the body of the man with the slashed throat who was very very dead lay.

Mort looked over, his dark eyes flickering there, then back to her. "You wasted another night of income for me. You owe me a lot of money, Philomel, as does your mother." He reached up with a finger, leaning towards her as he did and she could do nothing but lean back. She tensed as she felt her back press into the headboard of the bed, then as his fingertip tapped the end of her nose, lightly, teasingly, evilly.

His eyes shone.

"Your mother is not feeling very well."

"You absolute bastard!" Philomel yelled, spitting in his face. Her body shook, terrifyingly and it took much of her strength to hold herself down, to not launch up and attack him, kick him in the balls, aim somewhere, anywhere to give him that which he deserved, but that which she was basically powerless to give. She let out a defying screech of aggravated rage, and slammed her fist down onto the wood beside her in the most awkward angle possible.

The skin of her knuckles split and began to bleed, yet she did not care. She just glared back, hatred reeking out of every system. Then her eyes flickered once, the gaze was fleeting, fluid, and hardly noticable, but it was there.

She glanced quickly over to the wizard with her precious familiar hiding behind his feet and let out all the emotion she could find in this point.

Emotion that would help her. Veridian looked up at the man, and whined through his clenched jaws.

Whined. As Philomel looked at Ulrich with utter honest pleading.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Mort charged over to Philomel, Veridian hid behind Ulrich and let out a soft whinnney as fur stood on end. Ulrich turned, curiosity and professional courtesy both vying in equal measure for his attention. Instead Ulrich found his free, non-weapon holding hand to push it's long fingers through the fur on the top of Veridian's head. Quietly taking the disembodied member, the last of any free blood slowing to a periodic drip against the polished wood floor, for himself, surprisingly heavy on it's own with Skull and brain matter making the bulk of the object. He knew the standing for this kind of professional relationship. He wasn't require to like it.

"You wasted another night of income for me. You owe me a lot of money, Philomel, as does your mother."

Well since it wasn't a professional relationship of sex and money, Ulrich wasn't professionally obligated to do anything. Curiosity drove him to his feet, and he watched. His grip growing tighter as he did. The stranger who ran the whole Brothel gave off the impression of slime. The way he moved over to Philomel, violated her space. The skin of his knuckles stretched white and he moved closer a couple steps, enough to get within an arm's length of Mort before Ulrich realised what he was doing. It wasn't his place. It wasn't his right. Most of all, No one had asked for his help.

Until Pilomel practically eye begged him to make Mort stop. And if there was one thing on his list of unstoppable character flaws. It was an inability to ignore a Damsel in Distress.

Now. There's a point when it stops being a kind of professional relationship and it's just you blackmailing a whole lot of whores. When you reach that point, it's time for a career change. Because you obviously aren't able to handle a woman let alone a house of them.

Before Ulrich realised he had been speaking, it was out. The large man in front of him turned his head slowly towards the Professional Wizard, unbelieving of what someone so much smaller than himself would dare say in his presence. Eyes growing wider. Even less believing. Someone's head swinging towards his face. There's no understanding here for Mort as the corpse piece smashes into his nose. Something cracked and pain shot through everything he knew. Falling back, onto the bed. Eyes staring, unbelieving towards the ceiling. His rage builds. And he's hit with another curve ball as the coated wizard strides up onto the bed, Stick in hand.

Snap back to Ulrich, Now finding himself on top of the stranger One foot planted against his chest. His other leg, bent and resting on the bed as he leaned in close. Morts head forced down between the cooling legs of Phi's latest victim. Wand pressed against the underside of Mort's Jaw as both men stared cold stares into each other's eyes. Mort broke the silence.

"I-"

The relatively weak blast that was housed in Ulrich's wand is still enough to... redecorate. The blast of confined force rushed out from the weapon, into the bottom of Mort's skull and out of the top of Mort's skull. The sudden passing forced most of it's contents out into the room. Which was quickly starting to reek of death. Now partly coated in brains as well as the blood that was pooling on the bed. He turned and lobbed the head back to Philomel with an apologetic shrug.

"You're going to have to find a new brothel."

[Philomel]

Reactions.

Firstly fear. Which was odd. Fear was not something Philomel felt very often - after all as a competant swordswoman she could definitely defend herself well. Also her ability to make men fall in love with her after very little time was similarly useful. Fear was mostly felt in the way she spied Veridian, or rather somehow knew Veridian took his chance as Mort entered into the room and flicked his tail to dart behind the wizard's legs. His fear, she felt it also, as soon as her pimp mentioned her mother...

Anger. Anger swiftly came, and that made her punch the bed and cause the knuckles to start bleeding. The sweet scent of the blood filled the air, something she was very used to. Anger that made her want to scream out and kill everything in the room, despite the fact she only had one dagger, the rest of her weapons being somewhere in Mort's "office", and the other person (because Mort wasn't a person, he was a sick bastard) had unknown amounts of magic.

Then, despair. With the imminent threat towards her mother, Philomel had little way to go. She could just give in, turn and head out the door and make Mort enough money in one night to cover his losses, but part of her knew it would never be enough. Despair was the opposite of hope, a complete lack of anything positive, that made her burn inside and realise her situation here. Fuck being a whore, this was real now, a real threat to her mother's life, the only person Philomel had any inkling of "love" towards, and there was little she, or her earth-spirit familiar could do about it. A head, they had a head, a head another person wanted.

Another person. Philomel looked over at the wizard, he caught her eyes, and he reacted. This time he felt, and his feelings surprised her.

Swiftly something inside of him broke and one, two with no real need, his stick-thing was out, his wand, and pointing at Mort. At Mort, bloody hell at Mort, and Philomel felt her heart thud, loudly suddenly. She moved back, swiftly, right to the corner of the room, near the windowsill. She noticed that the head was now in the wizard's possession but that wasn't the issue here. The issue here, in majority, was the fact Mort was falling backwards. Yes, backwards. With his attention no longer on her he had stumbled into the bed and fell back on it, and somehow, for some reason, the wizard was moving against him.

Ulrich, the wizard, flung the severed head, and it smashed into Mort's face. Crunch broke his nose and sent streaks of dirty blood down the side of his face. Though it should have been dog shit for the type of man he was.

Mort was dazed, the wizard got up and straddled him. Just similar to how Philomel had been treating the man before - the now corpse on the bed she had not had time to clear up yet. He knelt over him. Mort opened his mouth to speak and then-

More reactions.

Surprise. Shock. Stutter. So much surprise, so much shock. Philomel had to hold her breath into her chest, to stop the shriek from resounding out. As she did something warm and soft caught up with her. It was Veridian, he clashed with her foot. Smoothly she bent down, and wrapped her arms around him, picking him off the floor as she stuttered her way through emotions.

"You - you just..."

Fucking hell. Fuc-king hell. She couldn't believe her eyes.

She looked over to the bed as the head came flying back to her. She ignored it. She didn't want it, her arms were full of Veridian, and he was soft, warm, her only companion for life. The severed head bounced off her hip and rolled a few paces away.

All she did was stare. Stare in disblief. Shock. Surprise. And she stuttered as she heard his words.

"You're going to have to find a new brothel."

New brothel my ass, her mind thought, Now is the time for celebration, baby.

No, not celebration. Mort might be dead, but this was real, this was now. She had to make sure her mother was well, people did not see, the world did not know. She turned, and ignored the wizard. Running out of the room she ran down the corridor to the room at the end of it, with the half open door that let to the "office", or, moreover, the extravagant love-making nest.

A knock. No answer. Good, it was empty.

Philomel ran over to the bed, ducked underneath and grabbed her sword and daggers that lay hidden there. Grabbed them, let Veridian sneak back out and check that nobody was watching. Smoothly, quickly, running on adrenaline and determination, she buckled them on, flew like the wind past Veridian standing there like a sentry post, and pushed her head back around the door with the dead things on the other side.

"Burn the fuck-bastards face," she demanded at the wizard, who was rather confused about her movements by this point, "So no one can recognise him. If not, well then burn this fucking whole room. And bring the head if you want." She caught her breath.

Breathe, Philomel, breathe. This will all be-

"I need to find my mother. Meet me in the King-Slayer Inn across the square"

And with that, she twisted around and left the wizard in the room with the bodies and the severed head, now a murderer, a saviour, and maybe, soon, an arsonist.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Burn his face? Who did she think he was? Ulrich was a detective, not a pay per view provider of magic tricks. On the hunt of a killer. A killer he had been paid to find. If it was just any killer then, well, He could just turn himself in now.

"Hah. And if Drakes were Dragons we'd all have soup."

Ulrich had the head now anyway. He would be able to find the killer now. Without the whore. Yes. That was what he would do. Phi was out of the room, he could leave. Disappear into the streets and not look back. While the Girl was out of the room. Just another day in paradise. Ulrich walked to the bed and emptied one of the pillow cases of the crisp white feathers. To continue stuffing the bloody mess into the red silk recesses. Tying it off, tossing it over his shoulder. Turning to leave. Heavy boots against the floor.

The memory of her head around the door. A string of desperation in her voice. Ulrich's lips were dry and he blamed the indecision. Something to shrug off. Another step and another string of guilt turned him back to the bed, the remains on which. He wasn't a wizard for hire. He was a Detective. He wasn't going to go throwing balls of fire around. Hell: It sounded exhausting. But. There was a pile of feathers on the bed. The thought of just leaving was... somehow un-doable. He stretched out his neck and moved back over to the bed. Hand stretching out.

Three minutes later and Ulrich was leaving the brothel. The beginnings of a raging fire growing up from a bed of feathers and linen. An empty book of matches discarded from the wizard's pockets. He walked across the square the inn was clear enough and passing over the threshold, all trench-coat and head sack, didn't draw any attention from the moderate amount of drinkers in the building. An inn called the King Slayer wasn't going to draw the nicer kind of person. A heavy sack at your waist wasn't nearly enough to stand out here.

Hell. Tie a decapitated head to your waist. You're just posing.

Ulrich scanned the Room. Surely a half goat with a belt-full of knives would stand out.

[Philomel]

Philomel saw the rising smoke from the window of the King Slayer Inn. It rose in plumes to the sky, and was vague against the clouds, with, as yet, no hint of flames. Similar just to a large bonfire, or an oven slightly out of control. She glanced at it, and as she did so a feeling of satisfaction came into her chest. Turning back to the barman she increased her very practised endearing smile and requested two glasses of Bradbury red wine, a Corone own.

He gave her them with little fuss, and she paid him duly. Taking the glasses she strode past a few lusty gazes turning in her direction, heading straight for a back bench in the dark corner of the pub, that did not have the greatest of reputations. Already there an older female faun was slumped in the corner, her face pale and drawn with worry, stress clear and visible, clutching in her hand a loose brass ring that hung by a leather thread around her neck. Staring off into nowhere but the thin air she barely reacted as Philomel sank down onto the same bench and pushed the glass of wine towards her.

"Take it mother," she said in a low and brutally, "It'll make you wake up."

Lacey van der Aart, the recently raped and weary soul opened her mouth, but no noise came out.

"He is dead," the whore-assassin continued. She then paused to sweep her own glass of light green liquid into her mouth and down her gullet. "He is dead, and no more. He deserved to die. And now we are free."

"What is freedom?" Lacey whispered in a harsh, quiet voice, "Freedom does not exist, we are all trapped in some way."

"Oh stop it with the philosophy, mother." Rising from her seat again, Philomel reached across the bench to rummage in her saddlebag that sat across from, and pulled out a long wooden smoking pipe. "It will turn you into an old grumpy whiny spinster."

"I am a spinster," Lacey moaned, "Without my husband, a terrible mother who dragged her daughter into a life of most the most twisted lifestyle possible."

"You used 'life' twice. You are not going to be an orator, that is clear."

"I am not going to be anything..."

Especially now, Philomel was not in the mood for being moaned at. Getting up once more the faun-whore left her mother with both glasses of wine and strode a few paces away. Her belt was tied tightly around her waist, with the full array of her knives and kastane sword upon it. Taking a suggestive pose, she struck out a hip and leaned against a wooden roof support, her pipe in hand. Though it was unlit it was an impressive prop to tuck into her mouth and pretend she was occupied, whilst she stood and waited for the man to arrive.

Her eyes flickered around the room quickly, and it did not take her much time to see him. Standing awkwardly in the doorway he seemed to be feeling out of place, a little nervous to say the least, concerning the company here. She raised an eyebrow, then smiled slightly, and waved with her pipe.

"I got you wine," she half-shouted over to him, "Come over here, lover."

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

It didn't take long for Ulrich to pick out the faun among the rabble. Chewing on an unlit pipe and resting against a wooden pillar all hair and angles, among the crowd of abrasive low-lifes which littered the bar around the clock. Ulrich wasn't a regular but the Professional wizard was here often enough for leads on missing people or stolen goods often enough that the bartender on duty, a barrel chested and bald dwarf with grey eyes nodded at his entrance. Still. Wizard or not, he didn't like the idea of carrying around a head on his belt whether or not it was hidden from direct view.

He was searching for an easier way to approach Phil, something a little under the radar.

"I got you wine. Come over here, lover."

Ulrich considered ignoring the faun for a small amount of time but four pairs of eyes in near proximity turning to stare at him with a grim curiosity proved that it would be ineffective. Turning from the squat table of familiar on-lookers he strode over to the prostitute, thumbing his nose. She was a couple inches taller than him, not something he was used to. He moved close, raising an elbow and resting it on the wooden pillar beside Phil, acutely aware of eyes on his back. Her mother wasn't hard to spot either. Slumped over a bar glass in hand, getting most of it into her mouth. Looking broken, which explains why she was in this pit. He turned his head to face the younger faun. A heavy perfume filling his nose, taking a step back.

"well she's not dead. less need to worry."

A mirror smeared with grime sat along the bar, reflecting the rest of the bar and his table of friends. a selection of low-lives built of scars and callouses whom Ulrich had ran across on a few occasions. None of them had been rosey. Each one of them carried a grudge along with heavy blunt instruments to enact out those grudges. But it was safe enough for now. Too many people around and if you tear down your favourite pissing hole, where are you gonna go? This wasn't the time to be nervous about an imaginary knife in the back.

It was the time to find out where to go from here.

"Maybe we should have that wine. And discuss our mutual... friend."

[Philomel]

She smiled sweetly, took a step forwards and planted a small but delicate kiss on the wizard's cheek. Stepping back Philomel then turned and clopped back over to the booth, where the two glasses of wine waited, as well as Lacey. Her mother barely moved, she did not even acknowledge the existence of the man. As Philomel slipped into the bench beside her Lacey made a small noise that was similar to a pitiful mumble, then curled tighter into a foetal position.

"Honestly mother," the faun-whore said briskly, "Cannot you even contain yourself in civil company?"

"I will die here," the elderly spinster moaned, "Die here and sink into the abyss of mumble, grumble pity pity pity talk..."

Philomel turned her attention back to the wizard, who leant against the wooden barrier to the entrance of the booth. She smiled, subtly.

"Yes, our mutual friend," she agreed, after his statement. "Indeed."

She took the time to glance back over to the window, where now a pile of smoke was billowing into the air. The flicker of light and tender sounds of screaming told that the brothel truly was taking the idea of burning to ashes in its stride now. She only hoped that those prostitutes she had made friends with over the years - Esmerelda, Dove, Ettelgay, Marma - had gotten the sense of what was occuring before they were caught in the hungry fire's siezing jaws.

Indeed, this was for the best. Mort had met his end, and not by Philomel's hand. His time had been coming, that had been clear - after all he had threatened her mother, and nobody threatened Philomel's mother without Philomel getting revenged. It was an idiotic thing, to do so to the assassin-whore, whose very blood flowed with ire. Turning her attention back to the wizard she lit up her face with a smile, and nodded.

"I need to find a place where my mother can stay the night, perhaps for longer. If you can assist with that, then," she slid the spare glass of wine towards the man. "Then we will discuss this matter. I have names, locations, times that I am willing to share. But first we house my mother. Here perhaps."

Philomel patted Lacey's lap. "How would you find that mother?"

The older faun made no noise, just squirmed from the physical contact.

-----

A few minutes later Philomel descended back down the stairs. She had flirted her way into a sizeable room with a comfortable bed. Seduction was easy when you had been trained for it all your mortal life. Five gold pieces and a short but sweet blow job to the manager had given her the best room. With a perfect view of the brothel across the street, which was alive with activity and death. Her highly sensitive nose, a gift born of any faun, caught the scents of ash and charcoal and burning flesh from this far across the square. It seemed rather inappropriate to mention it when she got back to the wizard, and so she did not.

Instead she sat once more in the same place, her sword and daggers now in full view and her shoulder guard also buckled on. She faced the man called Ulrich, tilted her head back.

"So, that is taken care of," she said calmly, "But how exactly can I help you?"

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Watching the transaction between the faun women with a passing interest. Ulrich's attention was pulled away by the sound of wood snapping under strain and fire. Building into a thunderous crash as the old building collapsed into itself in a brutal display of destruction. Smoke gathering into the sky, marking the now dead site of a little known brothel. Ulrich locked eyes with his acquaintances and produced the image of a flame, in the palm of his hand. Their reaction was his aim. The largest man turned suddenly blank and any possible plans of lynchings seemed to evaporate from his big, slow eyes. Followed by the man and his gang. Out the front door.

The wizard came out of his reverie as the faun whore led her mother up the stairs to a room. Leaving him in the too-small booth on his own for a moment which extended out ahead of him. Rain had began to fall, dousing the ashes of the brothel and preventing the fire from spreading, taking up the whole slums in a blazing inferno.

The glass of wine rose to his lips, the red drink filling his throat in a lack-lustre attempt at flavour, almost entirely replaced by fermentation and water. Ulrich took the time to take in his surroundings, already half familiar, he didn't spend much time. And it wasn't needed as now the only percieved threat had left the building. It would be interesting to travel back tonight. The wine glass rose again, tipped and emptied itself down Ulrich's throat. Leaving a sticky after-taste in the pit of his stomach. Philomel returned soon enough. It had taken longer than simply finding a room. And he had no doubts over what had transpired. The faun was a pretty open book when it came to getting her way from a man.

She slid into the seat across from him with a kind of ingrained, deliberate, grace that you had to be raised in to posess. Ulrich watched, non-plussed as the creature made herself comfortable. An empty wineglass in front of him.

He stared.

"We're both after the same man. But I suspect you know where he is. It is why I was able to come across you." A half smile pulled at the right side of his mouth, turning it into a quiet smirk. "So if you'd like to share, I think we can both work towards our mutual ends."

[Philomel]

Philomel tilted her head slightly, studying the wizard with an effortless, concentrated gaze. Lips slightly pursed she leaned on her forearms towards him, hands gently clasped. Her now substantially messy plait hung over her shoulder, like an abandoned noose. This, coupled with the bulging of her breasts over the top of her leather corselet, gave the image of a strong and determined woman who would take no shit from anyone.

"Indeed I know where he is. Or at the very least Veridian and I can find him."

As if on perfect cue the head of the golden-eyed fox appeared by her hip from under the table. He mewed, much like a begging kitten, his muzzle splitting to reveal his finely toothed mouth. Blood patterned a tooth or too and the long fleshy tongue that licked at the back of her wrist.

"Yes darling, I know you are hungry," she said calmly, not lifting her eyes from the wizard.

Raising a hand in the air she caught the attention of a barman. A casual novice-level flirt later and a steak and two more glasses of red wine were brought over, as well as a hand to fondle her breast. She let it occur, then battered the barman away. Veridian made straight for the steak, and dragged it back to the depths of the floor.

The faun-whore pushed one of the glasses towards the wizard. "Be not feared, it is not drugged. Now." Pointedly she cupped the remaining glass in her own hand, and swilled back the red liquid of a rich essence. "Yes, I know where Zoltan is. I have been searching for him for some time now. He slew a man in an alleyway that I happened upon, the same man whose head you have."

She shrugged, threw back more wine. "The fucker back there said he was in the lower town. Where precisely I won't say, because I don't know you well enough. You could just bugger off for all I know. But as we get closer I should be able to sniff him out."

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

He watched as Philomel weaselled her way into the head of the bartender, looking for more food and drink.

Taking the order and returning to the bar with a quickly waddling pace, which was completely out of character for the round little man. A character which had been built up over years of working behind the groggy bar and was rapidly collapsing into dust while the faun had him wrapped around her little finger. Patrons would soon become vultures looking to over-power him in return for free goods.

Phi could get two wines and a steak. A slums thug could probably get some watered down ale without breaking a sweat.

The dwarf returned a few silent moments later, with a steaming steak and two polished glasses of wine. Clearing the empty glasses with a grubby hand, while another... explored... the top of Philomel's professional form. The faun's expression unchanging, barely even moving her gaze from the Professional Wizard. It was truly unsettling. Ulrich considered how easily it had been for her to bend the bartender to her whims and his own defences intellectually re-knitted themselves as he considered her eyes which pierced him like grey daggers.

Wizards had willpower in spades. He was like a fortress. No. His will was stronger than that. His mind and self were a castle. It would take more than a quick kiss and back room dealings to get him off guard.

The wine moved closer to him while the dwarf sauntered away, apparently overcome with his minor conquest. Philomel made a joke about drugging his wine next time and he smiled a small facsimile of a smile. Raising the red liquid to his lips. Watery wine filled his mouth and he finished the glass quickly with disappointment. Philomel's wine was probably the real thing, a satisfied smile proved that it was. The bartender; either jealous of him as her companion, or wanting to save money without disappointing the girl.

They spoke easily enough about the task at hand. Ulrich was defensive of any tricks which the faun could pull to get him to her bidding. He didn't think it truely necessary but better to leave nothing to chance.

She was right though. He had started to consider leaving the faun behind, it had started to become an option after he had killed her abusive pimp and left the brother to slowly burn to the ground. Now it's charred remains lay across the street and she was holding what knowledge she had over his head. Too harmless to drag the information out of her and too wiley to allow him to ease it out with careful words. Resigned he nodded his head.

"Ok, we'll go down into the slums, and you'll lead us to him." A slight shrug as he felt his pay-cheque slip further and further away. "What do you want for this? If all he did was kill a man in an allyway, why the investment?"

He watched the faun with curious eyes. He didn't trust her, and now she had manoeuvred herself into the job and wasn't going to be left out.

[Philomel]

She pursed her lips slightly, finding this entirely unamusing.

The brothel, that until this day, she had called her "home", had been cremated, like the funeral of a past no longer relevant. Since a young age she had only known the whores, the pimps, and her clients, with the various few she had been hired to exterminate along the way. Now there was nothing stable, nothing certain - only her mother, her fox companion and this wizard sitting across the table from her.

As the faun-whore thought, her memories meandered back. Back like a silent stream to the time when she had met the young faun in the alleyway - that creature called Bibag. Her weak scream, her passionate attempt to fight Philomel once the head had rolled ... it all seemed somewhat a blur, as if viewing it through a fog. The fog was white, and it was thick; confusion hung in the air, the scent of strong intense desire, and an unusual pang of longing. What longing, she could not be sure. And it was a most peculiar sense of desire - not sexual as she was used to addressing, but rather inquisitive, tempting, hungry.

"You would never understand," she found herself blurting out harshly, quickly. "I don't care what you think of me, wizard, but don't question my resolve. I am hunting this man, and you are welcome to come along. But just know, you cannot do this on your own."

She sat back, tilting her chin higher. Defiantly she folded her arms over her breast, for a moment hiding the rounds of blessed endowment. If one had ears as sharp as an elf's they could have heard a collective, low mutter within the room, as all those who secretly watched her were denied that view.

Philomel leaned forwards slightly towards the wizard, her voice suddenly talking in hushed tones. "I am a whore, wizard, yet also a trained killer. This man has interest to me as being the first chance of adventure served to me since my mother went batshit insane. I am sure you might understand, did you have a civil bone in your body. But it seems you do not. So -"

The faun of blood and love stood up from her seat, still with her strong-willed stance in tow. From beneath the bench claws scuttled on wood and the russet form of Veridian poked his blood-stained maw out beside her ankle.

"I am going, wizard. Are you?"

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

"I am going wizard, are you?"

Ulrich's eyebrows raised slowly throughout the lecture and he more than expected the prostitute to leave at the end of it in a cloud of rage. leaving the wizard properly told off and dumbfounded. The more this idea ran through Ulrich's head, the more the very possibility of this faun walking off on HIM, calling HIM uncivil and rude. His cheeks reddened with a quiet fury as his mind started to pick up steam enough for a response. This was when the faun whore stood and offered the wizard an invitation.

Her profile as she stood above him was exactly what she wanted it to be: strong and provocative. A statement in itself. Ulrich had met many creatures in his time. Fur had always put him right off. So realising his eyes were examining Philomel's warm looking hips he shook his head to come back to himself. Instantly the faun turned and left. Ulrich's denial received instantly and prematurely. The brash faun out of the bar in seconds. A golden-brown ball of fur following after her into the night. Leaving a professional wizard on his tod, sans one guest.

Slumping back into the seat, low muttering spilling from around his head and out from between dry lips. Small curses and words of distaste interjected with 'Dammed whore'and 'danger hungry'. She was smart though, and he knew it, making her penultimate phrase of "you cant do this without me" that much more worrisome. She can't have gone far by now. Probably moping outside the bar if he was lucky, but, for some reason Ulrich didn't think his luck wasn't going to change that drastically.

The swinging doors that barred the exit had barely began to stand still as the wizard and the tails of his coat swept out into the night. Three cruel figures, Ulrich's violent aquantencies from inside the bar were not far behind. And if he was going to lead them to the pretty piece that had sat opposite him then so much the better. the boys had been on a fast for the past couple of weeks and Jimu saw fit to provide.

[Philomel]

When she heard the subtle creak of the door opening behind her, she peered over her shoulder. True enough the wizard was following her, his expression sour but his intent obvious. Philomel let out a subtle smile and looked down at Veridian, who tilted his bloody maw.

"Quite the charmer, is he not?" she chuckled, then turned to keep walking.

She felt the stones upon the road shift and grumble as the wizard followed her. The only two on this street tonight it was very likely to figure that he was the one upsetting them. Her sixth sense connected to the earth and dust and rock, and on this the faun contentrated as she turned towards the lower town. The lower town where Zoltan resided; the man she knew to be the killer.

Shuffle. Philomel stopped, suddenly. Her ears twitched back, her eyes widened slightly. Beside her the fox-spirit paused, one paw in the air and sniffed. He nickered, similarly alarmed as her heart skipped a beat.

Shit, she thought, I always find the ones with trouble.

Moving back into pace she forced her hooves to keep clattering. She hoped, strongly, that no one had noticed her slight hesitation. If her calculations and senses were correct, anyway, then she should be in a position around a corner, and thus out of sight of the wizard and his followers - those brigands with the darkened faces whom she had seen glaring at him. They might as well have had devil horns for all their seeming intentions towards him, from the little she gleamed in the bar.

But the wizard was her responsibility. Despite the fact she could get the justice herself he had proven himself useful thus far and so she thought it ungenerous should she not warn him. Quickly, once positive no one else could see her, she ducked into a gateway. Veridian followed suit, flicking his white tipped tail, and the two lay in wait. Drawing her throwing dagger she stayed there, still and as silent as was possible, lost in the dimness of the shadow - then saw the flap of the wizard's coat.

Swiftly she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him after her, spinning around like some children's plaything. A few light steps and she pulled him into the darkness of the gatehouse, wishing, hoping, willing that she had, perhaps, paid her life-saving debt to him.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Amazingly, his luck didn't change in any way and the back of philomel was shrinking into the distance, swaying side to side with an ingrained femininity that drew many men by the seat of their pants, and with a deep sigh; Ulrich quickly picked up his pace after her, all the while thinking that it wouldn't have been to much to ask that she had given him a second's consideration before charging off after the murderer without some backup. The gap between himself and the satyr woman was beginning to close as quietly as Ulrich could make it. He was wary of calling out in the street now that it was quickly being filled with the growing crowd of on lookers that were predictably heading towards the burning embers of what remained from the fire that he started on a (presumably) badly stained silk bed.

It had not been a nice place.

In the tail end of the crowd, Ulrich had lost Philomel and he slowed his pace, scanning the spaces infront of him searching for anything that might be a likely turn for the Faun. Quickly all hope started to die away, it would take too long to put a tracking spell together. For all he knew there was only minuites before a strange mix of sex and justice was drpped onto an unwitting killer. Again the same question, which had been looping on some subconcious level in his mind broke through and rang through his thoughts: Why do you care!? She kills the guy, your job's done. What's the problem here?

Because, she's going to take someone who beheaded someone else. It's not safe. And Ican't just let her go charging off into something like that and not give her a second thought.

The silence that followed was almost judgemental. No. It /was/ judgemental. He was judging himself. Dick.

Noone was going to change his mind, especially not himself. The sharp pull dragged him out of his reveree. The sudden change of direction and location disorientated him and suddenly he was aware that he was face to face with the Assassin woman, felt her breath on his cheek. Pressed together in the dark of the gatehouse. His mind filled with imagies of the silk bed and the amount of experience she must have had before tonight, concious now only of the parts that pressed agains his chest. The grip on his arm that held him here. And he almost, almost said yes. Buisness and pleasure and all that.

Unless, well... the other voice whispeered, the voice that had demanded to know why he had cared in the first place... Her buisness was pleasure.

He placed a finger to her lips, and pushed her away. Opening his mouth to speak, finding it dry and closing it again.

"I think we should get onto the task at hand"

And turning back and out, only for a step. Familiar faces Staring back at him. Sstrong hands gripping his coat faster than he could bring a spell to bear and now in a similar situation, but wholelly unplesant as four sets of eyes stared into his own. The owner of the vicces that held him still spoke first, the smell of decay and sewage wafting towards him with the words of demand.

"Ok Wizard. tell is were you lady friend wen' an we wont put you in t' gr'nd."

As whatever sense of honour had kept him on Philomel's tail also kept his mouth shut for the time being. One thing was for sure: any reaction he might have had to the faun's extremely close proximity a moment before, was definetly gone now.

[Philomel]

Fuck, was her first reaction.

No sooner had she pulled the wizard into the shadowed hiding place than he backed out, mostly likely upon reaction. Of course he backed out right into the hands of the same brigands who had followed them from the tavern. Such an indecisive fellow. First he shows pity and anger and kills her bastard pimp, then he is weak and unable to do a simple thing as hide.

She pulled herself back automatically, deeper into the shadows of the gatehouse, watching from the darkness as all their attention was focused on the wizard and not her. For a moment she paused, thinking of just running away at this point. After all she had just saved him, and then he goes and gets himself into trouble again. Maybe he could shoot blasts of energy from his fingertips, but he also had a disagreeable affinity with danger. He was a detective, indeed, for this evening, but now he was a victim. First he happened to come across Mort, then her, and now these thieves. What was he - addicted to the idea of death? He was as useful in these situations as a worm was in a circus.

"Tell us where your lady friend is."

The words were grunted like a stuck pig. Philomel rolled her eyes, and looked to Veridian. There was a pause, the russet face with the golden eyes tilted and faced her directly. The eyes blinked, staring back. For a while there was only silence, then the fox moved on his own.

He sprang from the shadows to the other side of the small tunnel, as silent as the darkness around them. Tugging her sword from where it was strung to her back Philomel counted the figures she could see - three at the most, and possibly more around the corner of the wall obstructing her entire view. The men did not see her, they were too focused on Ulrich the wizard, with knives and slingshots at their hand. She watched, however as Veridian pushed forwards, into the light and out of the shadow, slinking just like another alleycat.

So much so he was there, and then - flicker of ginger - he was gone, behind the legs of the cut-throats with not so much as a word.

Checking behind her Philomel assessed a route for escape. The gatehouse she was currently in led to a courtyard, dull in this dusk, with a large driveway for carriages and a plotted garden. A large door lay off to one side, which was open and led into the main building. A couple more were around, but they were too small to charge at and aim directly for, especially with such a surprised lump as the wizard would be.

Turning back to the men she concocted a plan there and then, as simple as life would give her. In the dimness her eyes caught again the slinking form of her beloved companion as he leapt onto a windowsill, directly behind one of the men. A breath, a heartbeat, she blinked, figuring out what he intended to do ... then substituted idea for action and decided.

Crying out in a loud voice she kept herself hidden, but her sword erect, echoing into the street.

"She's behind you!" she screeched, and something ginger flew direct on cue.

Veridian landed, flying from a windowsill directly onto the head of one of the men that held onto Ulrich. Claws dug into hair, hissing enshewed, and the man began to panic, letting go in instant reaction. Happily the fox leapt high, brushing his tail against ears and nipping as he went, with back arched and movements as lithe as an elf. He bounced, meowing as best as he could, and providing just enough distracted time amongst the suddenly panicking men for Philomel to duck in and aim a swordstrike right at the wrist that held Ulrich.

Yon brigand screamed, eyes already filled with the view of scrambling men and seemingly angered cat. Arms were flailing, brave men yelling as they were clawed, and the faun had just the time to grab the wizard's coat and drag him backwards. Turning literal tail she spun and ran, dragging him behind her, hooves clattering on the cobbles.

"Just run!" she yelled at him, aiming straight for the open double doors, "Just run!"

And like a force of nature she forced the unsuspecting confused wizard behind her, leaving the men to freak out about a frantic fox.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

"Come on wiz boy, Some whore ain' worth dyin o'ver"

Ulrich was going to agree. That noone was really worth dying over. The thug though, Benny was his name and Ulrich had first met him on one of the better days of his working career. He was busting up a gang ring which benny was a part of. After sending five monhs in prison, apparently he had managed to conjure an... intense dislike of the Professional Wizard. He was a bout to agree but Benny's hand, around his windpipe, was currently cuting off all air and communication. Instead of any form of sensable communication, Ulrich's reply was a mix of clawing hand motions and bulging eyes.

This provoked a shake around his throat, knocking him for six. Making the next four seconds a blur of incomprehensible action. In the end there was another set of hands, grabbing at his coat front, dragging him in a direction. The world spun for a second and starter to roll into place. The shape of Philomel infront of him, shouting over her shoulder.

"Just Run!, Just run!" She said.

"Ack." He said.

For he was a master of witty dialogue.

Soon enough, he was running a shocked and wobble filled run while at the same time trying to work out where his feet were since they clearly weren't attatched to his legs. They hit the courtyard at a galloping sprint, the gap between them and the three thugs growing quickly as they were obviously unconvinced about chasing after them into private property of someone clearly wealthy. The building only grew as they approached. Ulrich's comprehension of the surroundings cleared as they got closer. Faster than thought possible, the duo had reached the faun's target and the door's closed behind them. An streak of orange fur squeezing through at the last second and they were suddenly safe. Safer at the least than they had been a second before, the red marking on a bruised windpipe was evidence enough for that.

The room was bare. Looking like the ante chamber to the main building, built for the servants and maids of the stately manor home. Maybe it's first use was for a pantry or some other little space, now it was.... wasted, doing nothing but gathering dust. At least nobody would be passing through for a while. Unless they were incredibly unlucky. Maybe they should get moving.

"This is your fault." Blurted the woman, Frustration at not leaving when she could have. Again caught between a rock and a hard place with the events of the night already pressing for attention.

Ulrich had the feeling that he was not making the best first impression and stayed silent. Instead listening at the only other exit from the room which didn't lead back to where they had came from. Only silence met his ears. Testing the handle and finding it loose, Ulrich twisted and pulled open the door, moving through the arch. The room next was a large kitchen. Ovens, counters and freezers but everything shut off, deathly silent in the smal hours of the night. All three of them moved together, Veridian kept it's tail and belly low, close to the polished, stone slab floor while sniffing every which way. Veridian was on point.

"What this? This is just... bad luck"

He had been having a lot of bad luck recently. Mostly to do with rent.

The trio reached the next door. And swung through into a desserted dining room, fifty feet long and split down the cntre by a single huge dinner table, bare but recently polished. One side of the room was flanked by massive ceiling high windows, covered by curtains of thick purple velvet. Instantly Philomel trotted towards them, hands pushing the curtains out of the way and pawed at the frame, looking for a quick exit.

Ulrich felt it instantly. The electric snap as a spell completes it's list of components and fires in a blinding instant. For a moment nothing happened. The hope that it had done nothing grew, slowly.

Then the siren rang out, from everywhere at once. Clammy hands pressed against Ulrich's ears on instinct to block out the noise as it pierced what had to be the whole building with a single continuous tone. After exactly three seconds, it stopped. Hands, came away from the side of his head and he pointed a single loose finger towards the faun who had spun back to face him when the alarm had sounded.

"Now that... was not my fault."

[Philomel]

"Oh and how was I supposed to know this bloody place was protected by magics, Mr Wizard," she snapped.

Snarling like a rabid dog she turned from him back to the window and curled her hand into a fist. Offering a quick and likely useless prayer to Drys she summoned what little strength she had and punched hard at the window. Thhummmm was the sound and painful was the juddering that extended up her arm. A small hiss and she only had to look down to see Veridian with his back pressed against the window wall, golden eyes wide and fearful. Likely he could feel the strength of the magic, the powerful spells that caused this ... alarm to break off.

Cursing she held her arm close to her side, biting through the pain and decided on the most obvious solution, which really should have occurred to her first. Deftly looking around behind her she found a clear enough space and took the few necessary steps back for such an action. She did not even look at the wizard, only shouted over the wailing sound.

"You will want to duck!" she screamed, then lowered her head. With arm still craddled in its opposite's hand the faun threw herself forwards. Her hooves pounded on the floor with merriment, taking steps of pounding one, two! and then she threw herself into the air. The leap was high, precise and organised, one of many Philomel had taken in her life, but this time her head was down. Which meant her horns were down, forwards, and heartily they crashed into the window.

Wood splintered, glass crashed into a thousand shards. Tumbling straight through the broken pieces Philomel tumbled, tucking and rolling as best as she could. Heavily, she landed on the outside, in some form of lawn. Grass and moss caught her landing, and perhaps there were flowers for she smelt the power of petunias. Yet this was not her direct concern. All she cried out was, "Come on you muppet wizard!" and, "Veridian!"

A yelp, a yap. The fox twisted around, stared at Ulrich and swished his tail in the direction of the broken window. He eased back on his haunches and leapt, high into the air, over the shards as only artistically as a lithe beast like him could. He stared around, saw Philomel. There was a back garden, with a fence to the back, and voices coming from houses nearby. His senses told them that they had to get out, and fast.

He barked. Philomel shrieked.

"Ulrich!"

She pushed herself to her feet, looking for the route that would take them direct to the lower town ... and straight to Zoltan. The killer in the dusk.

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

The building was on fire and it wasn't his fault.

He had snapped back at her almost instantly, his frustration had grown. Slightly. "The price of this place, you think there's just an open door out back!?"
The faun had ignored him moved towards the window and smashed a hand against the glas an instant after a shout of protest worked it's way up Ulrich's throat. Everything happened as expected, the glass was thick and toughened. Vibrations rang up her arm, numbing it, if not damaging her physically.

In another instant Ulrich was on his chest spread flat against the floor.

Ulrich wasn't good at not making enemies. Something which, living with it for as long as he had, reinforced your reactions to certain words. Such as, run, jump and duck. Before he knew what was going on the window had shattered and Philomel was outside, good news! Then all sets of door smashed open and in trotted, city guards and the street thugs and presumably the owners of the mansion: A well fed, round couple who both wore outfits which looked more expensive than Ulrich's home.

The guards charged into the room in a diciplined military formation, sweeping eyes over the room. The wizard, blocked from view by laying chest first behind the large dining table which took up half of the room.

The street thugs charged in with much what you would expect: Screams. Hoping to terrify Philomel and himself while the alarm was sounding, and take both of them out before any authorites arrived. Already there were a few problems with the plan. Im sure that's clear to everyone. But Benny wouldn't have that of course and the balding thug, so high on bloodlust charged the only targets he could see with a rusty knife and a skull thick enough to rival Phi's horns. Almost instantly, he was skewered on three sepereate swords, simultaniously. Each one tenting the ragged remains of a shirt hanging from his back.

And then, with the bastards last breath, he muttered.

"Ale'vi nox"

Blood turned to ice as Ulrich instantly scrabbled to get away. On his feet in an instant, before the final syllabal left Benny's mouth and cast a death's curse. You didn't need to be gifted to cast it. But you had to already be in the act of dying and not one of those wimpy three month's left to live types of gigs either. Think of it as a primer.

"Ulrich!"

Ulrich lept the broken glass in a single bound, bringing both legs up infront of him and landing on the lawn with a single roll, before coming to a halt between Philomel and Viridian.

"They call me. Mr Muppet."

And Benny exploded. Taking the dining room with him.

[Philomel]

The fanatic wizard threw himself out of the window, barely missing the shards that stuck up in the air, begging to claim a lick of blood. But well, he cleared them, and landed in a flopping roll, arms sprawling as he did. Veridian bounded over the grass with the gifted human as he did, tail flapping. The russet red, the bright golden eyes and the livid lithe movement emenated life beyond existance -

And very soon the same colours, and the same forms, burst from the building. Smashing, roaring, savagely destroying. The house literally ripped itself apart at the bricks and mortar, going from wailing alarm and broken glass to fiery apocalypse.

The fox siezed, the faun grimaced. She turned to the wizard, but he was already preparing to survive. Ulrich crouched himself between the annihilation and the assassin-whore. Something spanned from the end of his wand - transparent, globule, bubble-like. It expanded as fast as the explosion expanded, blossoming out in one dome over him, and the grass, and Veridian and ...

She tucked her short stubby tail it, less it become singed, and ducked down her head. Gritting her teeth she ground her fist around the hilt of her sword, until the knuckles whitened, not daring to watch as the crisp embers and burns and flying bricks flew towards them and shattered harmlessly against the shield.

Magic, darn magic, she hissed in her head. Darn life-saving magic.

By her side her beloved familiar scuttled onto her lap, nuzzled his head into the crook of her elbow. Seconds passed but it seemed like an eternity as the flames licked up the once so beautiful manor before them. The magical ward started to flicker as it faded, after saving their simple lives, but still the faun crouched there, still.

"Magic," she whispered, "Magic. Why, wizard, why?"

She stared at him, incredulous.

"... Why did that building blow up?"

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

I wont use magic next time then. These were the first words to pass through his head as the faun lay gibbering on the circle of un-torched lawn. The wizard though he had done pretty well, keeping the three of them alive was definetly a nice twist to the debaucle of the evening. It was definetly the first time tonight he felt that he had done something right. The danger behind them was, presumably, gone and there weren't any new threats revealing themselves from beyond the fencing. In fact, beyond the fence it was eerily calm. The lawn, aside from the fire raging behind them, was silent. Of course philomel was still babbling.

"Oh that. Death curse, Very complicated."

He sighed, wanting very much to lay down in the warmth of the fire for a little bit. Defence agaist explosions were difficult and his head was turning slowly into oatmeal and may have started running out of his ears. Maybe? He still had a job to do. The only thought running through his head, pumping a little more energy to his legs, head held high in the warm destructive wind of the evening and pulling Philomel to her hooves her grey eyes filled with the reflection of the orange and yellow flames.

Stowing his wand, Ulrich nodded towards the flames and shrugged in a 'what can ya do?' kind of way before waving his hand forward in the direction she was was heading before it hit the fan.

"You know, after this I think we should drink pretty heavily."

Moving up to the fence, he hoped it with a gallant sweep of his legs, trailed by the tails of his coat. The end of the night was nearing, soon it would be opening tome for the taverns.

[Philomel]

Dumbly she blinked and stared, open mouthed at the building.

After the sudden explosion things died down, pretty quickly. The shield disappeared, Philomel raised her head and her mouth hung open, gaping at the flames licking the rubble wall.

The wizard grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her to her feet. Still she gawped, stupidly, more in shock than anything.

"Wha' ..."

Rather astoundingly she could still see the remains of the window she had head-butted and shattered. Broken pieces like the Jagged mountains still clung to the lower border of the frame, though they were black and sooty now.

"Death curse," Ulrich garbled, "Something, something ... drink."

She blinked again, then her attention was averted from the fire and ash.

"Drink?" she asked, eyes brightening suddenly. "I like alcohol. Martini, mead and cider, mmmmm."

Dazedly she nodded, still caught within the mesmerising trance of the pretty dancing flames, and turned towards him, jerkily moving her legs. Her lips quivered as she murmured:

"Zoltan, Zoltan, lets find Zoltan and fill his stomach with stones. DRINK!"

Slam. Shiver. Shake. She pounded the earth with her hoof, and flew into the heavens. High, jumping as a soaring bird she spread her arms like wings as she leapt over the wizard's head, and landed on the other side of the fence. Once there she glanced around wildly, like a mad gazelle, and faced the way of the lower town.

"Drink!" she cried again, "Drink!"

[Ulrich Craggenmoor]

Had she hit her head? The faun pushed herself from the grass and verily flew over Ulrich's mangy collection of hair and the fence, landing with a loud grace on the cobble stones at the far side. The wizard winced at the drop and chose to vault over the fence instead. He didn't have the legs to leap it in a single graceless bound.

The stones were hard, and wet with the evening dew. Each step the pair took towards low-town shot harsh click clacks into the scene which resounded down the narrowing street. The atmosphere sat like dead weight between them and the faun grew quiet with anticipation as they neared, Ulrich's face was stony, a hard poker's mask before a game.

Clouds began to roll in cutting off the moon, and the shadows grew.

The door was understated.

Philomel led them to a small red thing, made from layers of chipped paint, set into a rough cast arch of stone and mortar. Both looked like they would collapse in a heavy breeze and both were hiding true strength. After a prelimery pushing, nothing was going to budge. So he turned to Philomel and asked.

"What's in a martini?"

[Philomel]

She violently banged her fist against the door of the Dead Man's Noose, expecting it to be locked. However, the door easily creaked open, without even a snib lock to stop it. Its hinges groaned like an old codger and Philomel smiled as she stepped into the dull interior, her eyes looking over the mould-ridden walls and the crusted paint.

It was a shody shame of a pub, if she was honest. Obviously it had seen better days, and there was barely anything to keep it going apart from the presence of a single elderly whore drinking her sorrows from a large jug of beer. The space inside was small and many seats were chipped, broken or empty. With space for about thirty clients only three seats at the bar itself were taken, and plus the whore made a spirited clientelle of four. Behind the bar itself, polishing dirty glasses with a dirtier rag was a bearded man with a scar down the left side of his face. He looked up as Philomel and her companions walked in, and raised a bitter eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" he said in a low voice.

All others, clearly regulars, looked around and faced them. Behind the faun-whore Ulrich hid slightly, seemingly not so eager to have his presence noticed. From under her hooves, also, Veridian hopped into the bar, wiping the floor with his brush tail.

Philomel grinned at the various people, then put on her best innocent face and daringly flirted her way up to the bar. She placed a hand on the wood and leaned over to the barman. She could feel the burning gazes of the customers following her as she walked, hungrily staring and desiring.

"Two martinis if you please, good mate. I don't give a second toss about those olives the hoity toity posh folk have in them. Just the straight up good drink. Oh, and if you could tell me where a Mr Zoltan Hart is, that would be great. I was told that he works here."

The barman stared at her for a while, just wiping the surface of the glass before nodding.

"Right. Tell your frightened friend there to go take a seat. I'll get those martinis up for you."

Philomel smiled at him, "And Mr Hart ..."

The barman spat into the glass, then turned and grabbed a bottle of gin before pouring a useful amount in.

"Whatever your interest with him, he's not interested in you," the barman said, "I don't like company of your sort and I never will, no matter what the whores of your side of town might say."

[Philomel]

Finis.


Finished and submitted incomplete as Callum (Mushashi) has taken a long haitus from Althanas. End of the story - they find Zoltan and kill him in a beautiful bloody bath.

[Lye]

No Judgement

Philomel (17225) -

1,760 EXP
176 GP

Ulrich (17263) -

1,130 EXP
154 GP

[Lye]

Points added.